


Draco Malfoy and the World Cup 2018

by mrsfelfoy



Series: Muggle Studies [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, FIFA World Cup 2018, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Muggle Studies, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, RuPaul's Drag Race References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 22:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsfelfoy/pseuds/mrsfelfoy
Summary: Draco wants Harry to help him understand muggle culture. Harry thinks football is a good way to start.Draco has other ideas.





	Draco Malfoy and the World Cup 2018

The next time, Harry approached Malfoy.

 

Harry was more than confused by Malfoy’s – yes it was still too weird to call him Draco in his head – strange new fixation on muggle culture, but he wanted to test how serious Malfoy was about the whole thing.

            ‘Hey, Draco,’ Harry called across the common room. Malfoy started, having been engrossed in a book and not noticing Harry at all.

            ‘What do you want, Potter. I mean, Harry.’ Harry smirked at Malfoy’s slip-up, there’s no way he was serious about muggles. Harry chose to ignore the mistake.

            ‘Watch the football with me.’ Harry said. It wasn’t really a question, although secretly Harry wasn’t confident Malfoy would accept. It was a Hogsmeade weekend and Harry had stepped out of this one to let Ron and Hermione have some ‘quality time together’. He loved them both dearly, but he didn’t want to be the permanent third wheel any more than they wanted him to be.

            ‘The what?’ Malfoy’s book was completely abandoned as he crossed the room to sit by Harry at the window. Harry winced when he realised the book had landed page-down on the rug. Malfoy would be furious later when he remembered its existence and realised the pages were bent.

            ‘Football. It’s a muggle sport, the players kick a ball around a field and try to score goals.’ Harry explained. He glanced at Malfoy whose brows had drawn together in confusion.

            ‘So, it’s like quidditch but without flying? But that’s the best part!’ Harry laughed at how quickly Malfoy changed from being hostile to eager. If only he knew how much he reminded Harry of Arthur Weasley in that moment.

            Harry pulled out the small iPad Hermione had bought him for his birthday. It wasn’t strictly allowed at Hogwarts, but he kept it at the bottom of his trunk and hid it under his invisibility cloak for safe measure. Seamus had hacked the newly established Hogwarts Wi-fi system – thankfully none of the teacher were tech savvy enough to notice a new device on the network.

            England were currently playing Panama in the group stages of the World Cup and they were, quite frankly, thrashing them. As Harry and Malfoy settled in to watch the game, Harry tried his best to explain what he knew of the rules without giving away that he actually knew absolutely nothing about football. He probably should’ve asked Dean for more information before he tried this, he just hadn’t wanted to face an hour’s rant about the ‘greatness’ that was West Ham.

            ‘Potter, are you even paying attention to this?’ Malfoy elbowed him in the ribs. Harry jolted to attention and realised they were a good half hour through the game and Harry had missed most of it.

            ‘Don’t be ridiculous Malfoy, of course I’m paying attention.’ He lied. It didn’t wash with Malfoy, who was looking increasingly irritated by the minute.

            ‘You know what, Potter? This is ridiculous.’ Harry supposed this was the wrong time to notice that Malfoy had reverted back to calling him Potter. It was definitely the wrong time to notice he was disappointed. ‘I genuinely wanted to broaden my horizons, smell the damn roses as the muggles say. Is this a joke? You’re just here to humiliate me, aren’t you? Here I was thinking maybe we could put the war behind us but now, you’re still the childish eleven-year-old who rejected me!’ Malfoy’s voice was steadily rising in volume, his usually pallid skin was flush, and his hands were clenched into fists by his side. Strangely enough, Harry much preferred this Malfoy.

            ‘Oh for Christ’s sake Malfoy, I was just thinking! Why do you have to be so self-absorbed? You think this has anything to do with you?’ Harry spat angrily.

            ‘What, so you watch football now, do you? Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World and all-round World Cup Enthusiast? I don’t think so. I’ve never seen you take an interest in bloody football. I’ve actually _seen_ you roll your eyes at Thomas every time he starting banging on about that stupid team he follows. Don’t you dare try to kid me.’ Harry had seen Malfoy angry. Hell, he’d seen him literally spit feathers after a hex too far, but it was very different having that anger directed at him when he hadn’t actually tried to antagonise him.

            Should he be noticing the vein at the side of Malfoy’s forehead? Should he be following the tendons in his neck as the strained to contain his rage? Should he really notice the flush which disappeared down below the open collar of his shirt? Who the heck wore a button-down shirt on a Saturday anyway?

            Harry’s attention snapped back to Malfoy’s face as he realised he’d been staring instead of listening to him.

            ‘THERE YOU GO AGAIN!’ Harry roared. ‘Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, blah blah blah. I don’t give a fuck about that, Malfoy! I never have! I thought you of all people wouldn’t keep reminding me of it every five bloody minutes!’ Harry was seething. All he had done was try to help and somehow it had backfired.

            ‘Really, Potter? _That’s_ what you took from that? You’re unbelievable.’ Malfoy marched across the room and snatched up the book he had discarded earlier.

            ‘Draco, wait-’ Harry called after him, his anger draining away. Malfoy didn’t say anything, and he didn’t look back as he stormed off up to the dorms.

            ‘Fuck.’ Harry threw the iPad against the wall and took great satisfaction in the audible crack it made as it collided with the stone.

           

∞

 

Harry didn’t speak to Malfoy after that. Malfoy didn’t speak to Harry either. In fact, if anyone had asked him, he probably would’ve gone as far as to say Malfoy was actively avoiding him. Harry looked for him everywhere. He didn’t actually search for him specifically, but he found himself searching a room for silvery-blond hair or listening for a posh accent that somehow was always audible above everyone else, even if it wasn’t actually any louder.

            He did clock Malfoy a few times, but somehow by the time he’d made his way over or looked away, Malfoy was gone. It was driving Harry mad.

            He’d tried to go back and collect his stupid iPad, only to find it was gone. He supposed the house elves would’ve thrown it out, not knowing what it was or how to fix it. In fact, he was bloody lucky he hadn’t got into trouble for having it inside the castle. He prayed to Merlin or, whoever the heck the wizarding deity was, that it wasn’t another example of _Harry Potter favouritism_ ** _™_** _._ Was there even a wizard deity? Surely it couldn’t be Merlin, since Merlin was actually a person. And he was a Slytherin, which Malfoy never let anyone forget. Yes, there it was, his thoughts drifting back to Malfoy yet again. Harry would go to the library later and find out about wizard religion.

            In November, he began coaching a first year quidditch team. Quidditch team being in the loosest sense of the term. Most first years were absolutely terrified of flying, apart from a couple of purebloods who were clearly very accustomed to a broom. Of course, this did nothing to distract Harry from Malfoy whom, Harry had to admit, had outstanding flying skills.

            The eighth years hadn’t been allowed to play quidditch, in the interest of promoting house unity and avoiding cementing old house stereotypes. However, from what Harry had observed from the younger years, the houses had gone all out to prove that they didn’t judge the Slytherins for the war. It filled Harry with pride that they were all working so well together, however he couldn’t help but notice that kids as young as twelve and thirteen shouldn’t be mature enough to understand that Slytherin students were entirely separate from the Death Eaters. He supposed war changed them all.

            Then there was Christmas. Harry had broken the Weasleys’ hearts when he’d told them he was staying at Hogwarts from the holidays. Hermione had pretending to be understanding, saying things with Ginny would go back to normal soon enough.

            The thing was, Harry didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t Ginny who was keeping him away. In fact, they’d talked it over and they were both happy to leave their relationship behind to pursue other things. It was actually Ron Harry had been trying to avoid.

            He didn’t know how to tell him he no longer wanted to be an auror. It was all Ron would talk about these days; how great a pairing they’d be, how they might be the most famous auror partners in history. Harry wasn’t vain enough to point out that they would be anyway, even if they were terrible aurors. Harry didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

            Which, of course, made the whole Malfoy issue so much worse.

 

When everyone returned to the castle at the end of the Christmas break, Harry was in a state of utter turmoil. He had no idea what he was going to do when the year ended and if he was really honest, he was starting to question the wisdom of even bothering to finish his education in the first place.

            What he hadn’t accounted for, was the persistence of Draco Malfoy.

            Following the welcome back feast, Harry made his way up to his dorm. He was avoiding the eighth-year celebrations. How everyone could still be in the mood to party he would never understand. To his surprise, he found a strange looking box at the foot of his four-poster.

            The box was wrapped in shiny, emerald green wrapping paper and finished with a giant silver bow. It was the most ostentatious present he’d ever received in his life. He found a note attacked with a light sticking charm which was easy enough to undo. It read:

           

_It turns out that the company who makes these infernal devices has a reputation for making them difficult to fix. You, in your fit of brutish rage, manage to destroy yours so badly that no self-respecting muggle on the planet would be able to fix it._

_So, out of the generosity of my heart, I have in fact replaced the bloody thing in the hopes that it will also metaphorically replace our last interaction._

_Please don’t make me regret this decision, self-pity doesn’t look good on me._

It wasn’t specifically addressed to him, and it wasn’t signed by anyone either, but that didn’t matter. Harry was grinning from ear to ear.

            He ripped open the wrapping to find a brand-new, silver iPad box. He tore through the cellophane and eagerly turned it on, hoping to set it back up as quickly as he could.

            However, upon turning the tablet on, he found that it had already been set up for him. Most of the apps had already been removed and on the homescreen there were just three left: BBC Sports, the BT Sport app and the FIFA World Cup Russia app. Harry couldn’t have suppressed his grin for a million pounds. He all but ran from his dorm and back down to the common room but his smile fell when he scanned the room and couldn’t see a head of brilliant blond hair anyway. His previous excitement totally destroyed, he slowly trudged his way back up to the dorm.

            He kicked off his shoes and was about to fling himself dramatically on his bed when he got the shock of his life.

            ‘Watch it Potter, I don’t want your arse coming anywhere near me, thank you.’ Harry jumped out of his skin.

            ‘JESUS CHRIST MALFOY!’ He yelped. Malfoy on the other hand, was totally unperturbed and remained lounging across Harry’s bed like a Persian rug.

            ‘I know I’m great, Harry, but my family does not descend from Jesus.’ He said, matter-of-factly. ‘Besides, if it did, the Malfoy family chapel would be entirely redundant.’

            ‘Uh,’ Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that.

            ‘Eloquent as always, Potter. Now, are you going to join me or not?’ Malfoy said, looking smug. Harry felt himself flush terribly.

            ‘Not like that! Get your head out of the gutter.’ He didn’t really look very distressed by the idea though.

            ‘Move over, then.’ Harry said, and Malfoy shuffled his bum over to make room for him. _No thinking of Malfoy’s bum,_ Harry told himself. ‘Does this mean you’re willing to watch football with me?’ He asked once he’d settled next to Malfoy on his bed.

            ‘Absolutely not. Your stupid sport is abhorrent and barbaric and why you would ever watch that over quidditch I won’t even attempt to understand.’ Malfoy said with distain. Harry’s brown knit together in confusion.

            ‘Well why did you download those apps then?’ He asked him. Draco didn’t respond, he simply rolled his eyes and too the iPad from Harry’s hands. Harry watched as he swiped the screen sideways to find another app Harry hadn’t seen before called Netflix.

            ‘What’s that?’ Harry asked him. Draco rolled his eyes yet again.

            ‘Honestly, Potter, and you claim to have been raised by muggles.’ Harry bristled. He was _not_ about to talk to Draco Malfoy about the Dursleys. Thankfully, if Malfoy had noticed his reaction, he didn’t acknowledge it. ‘Haven’t you heard of the phrase “Netlfix and chill”? Anyway, I’m about to introduce you to some real muggle culture.’ Harry watched him tap the app and log in to an account he’d made in Harry’s name. The absolute cheek of it.

            Malfoy tapped a show called _Ru Paul’s Drag Race_. Harry was excited. Was this some kind of car racing? He’d never really been into cars as such, but he definitely wanted to get his muggle driving licence once he’d graduated.

 

_Ru Paul’s Drag Race was not about cars._

‘Malfoy, if you’ve got a think about wearing womens’ clothes, why can’t you just say so instead of dragging me into it.’ Harry groaned. This show, unlike Lip Sync Battle, was not intriguing for Harry. Maybe he just had a thing for Tom Holland. Wait, no. He doesn’t have a think for Tom Holland. He’s not gay. Nope.

            ‘It’s not about the clothes, Potter, you imbecile, it’s about supporting my community.’ Malfoy said absently. Harry was more than aware of the way Malfoy’s leg was pressed against his own, Malfoy was incredibly hot, even through the fabric of their trousers. Harry dared not think about how close they were having to huddle so they could both see the small screen.

            ‘Your community?’ Harry questioned, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart. Malfoy was settled more lazily than Harry and his blond hair kept brushing against his cheek each time he moved his head. It happened again when he looked up at Harry in confusion.

            ‘Yes? The gay community? Honestly, Potter, how dense are you?’ Gay. Draco Malfoy is gay. How had Harry not known that?

            ‘You’re gay?’ He asked, even though he clearly already knows the answer. Malfoy’s eyes went wide.

            ‘You didn’t know?’ He seemed frantic, panicked, like a deer caught in the headlights. Is that what this had been about? Malfoy got angry before because he thought Harry wasn’t interested in him? Was Harry interested in him? He really didn’t know.

            ‘Uh, I do now?’ He knew that was a pathetic response, but he didn’t know what else to say.

            ‘Oh my god I’m such an idiot.’ He was scrabbling away from Harry as if burned. Harry was very confused, why did Malfoy think it was such a big deal?

            ‘Malfoy. Malfoy. DRACO!’ Harry bellowed. Malfoy froze. His hair was mussed from the speed at which he’d scrambled off the bed. He was halfway to the door by the time Harry had managed to get through to him and he was very grateful everyone else was downstairs partying. He wouldn’t want to have to explain this to Ron.

            ‘What.’ Malfoy said breathlessly, and Harry realised he hadn’t actually thought about what he was going to say.

            _Fuck it._ Harry thought. _Actions speak louder than words._ So, he marched over and stood right in front of him.

            ‘What are you doing, Potter?’ Malfoy attempted to sneer but it was ruined by his nervousness. Harry didn’t answer. Partly because he wasn’t thinking at all, partly because he wanted to take in this moment as best he could.

            He always thought Malfoy’s eyes were dull grey and washed out, but up close they were bright and sharp. He thought his features were pointed and twisted in a permanent ugly sneer, but really when Malfoy opened himself to someone he had a handsome face. All high cheek-bones and sharp jawline. Harry was grateful to any and all gods that Malfoy had finally stopped using that awful greasy hair gel. His hair was actually kind of long now, and it was falling into his eyes.

            Before he could think any more, Harry closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Malfoy. Malfoy stood stock still and Harry panicked thinking he’d done the wrong thing. Of course he had, you don’t just kiss someone because they told you they’re gay.

            He needn’t have worried however, because after a couple of seconds Malfoy kissed him back fiercely. Harry thought his brain might explode as his lips moved against Malfoy’s. If someone had told him he would kiss Draco Malfoy this year he’d have laughed in their face, but Malfoy’s lips were warm and surprisingly soft, and Harry decided he could kiss him all day.

            Eventually, Harry was the one to pull away. Malfoy looked thoroughly ruffled, his lips shiny and his eyes wide. Harry took a mental note of this look on his face, in case he never had the luxury of kissing him ever again. He waited for a snide remark or a nasty hex, but nothing came. Malfoy just stood there, staring at Harry as if he was only just seeing him for the first time.

            ‘So,’ Harry cleared his throat. Malfoy raised his eyebrows and Harry hoped whatever he said next wouldn’t make it any more awkward than it already was because he definitely didn’t have the brain capacity to think about his words before he said them. ‘What exactly _is_ Netflix and chill?’


End file.
